


Camp Mathilda

by Tea-Diva (Revenant)



Series: The Devil's Dogs 'Verse [4]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revenant/pseuds/Tea-Diva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate hadn’t expected to feel more at ease in Camp Mathilda than he had at Camp Margarita, but he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camp Mathilda

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction based on the fictionalized characters from the HBO miniseries Generation Kill. I do not own the characters or the series, or the book that inspired it; nor am I profiting from this in any way. I intend no disrespect to the real men on whom the book was based.
> 
> **Read @[LiveJournal](http://tea-diva.livejournal.com/5780.html)**

Nate hadn’t expected to feel more at ease in Camp Mathilda than he had at Camp Margarita, but he did. He strongly suspected that the reason for that was because unlike at Pendleton, in Mathilda his men were not isolated behind a wire fence taller and more unwelcoming than the one that marked the border between Mexico and California. 

When he’d gotten a little more familiar with Bravo 2 he had commented on it. One of those moments when the ease of the group had met with Nate’s own curiosity, that tiny part of it that was still thriving unchecked despite all the training that had taught him when it was wiser and more appropriate to stow his questions and never give them voice.

Walt Hasser had shrugged and said, “I don’t mind. Barely notice it most days.” 

Espera had jumped in and said, “Dawg, ain’t nothing my people aren’t already used to,” and Nate wasn’t sure if he was referring to Mexicans or Native Americans, or werewolves. If there was one thing he had learned about Antonio Espera, it was that his bloodline was apparently comprised of all the downtrodden people that ever existed on Earth at any point in history, with perhaps the only exception being the Jews. Nate suspected that the only reason Espera refrained from laying claim to the ‘chosen people’ as well, was purely out of deference to his alpha.

Ray Person had grinned like a Cheshire cat and, in a voice that sounded like he was about to level with Nate, said, “LT, that fence keeps the crazy people out. I fucking _love_ that fence.”

When he’d turned-in that night, Nate had spent several hours thinking about the fence and about how his men perceived it, and how that contrasted with the rest of the Base. In the great wisdom of the USMC the fence had been installed for the peace of mind of every non-wolf Marine in Margarita specifically, and Pendleton in general. It was expensive as hell, laced, as it was with pure silver and running as it did over such a significant portion of land, encompassing the barracks, gym, mess and HQ for Bravo 2. 

On one side, the Base side, that fence meant security, protection, and defense against something Other. That the men of Bravo 2 were held in high regard bordering, at times, on outright ‘awe’ was true, but it was the type of respect that worked better with a good stretch of land between the object of that awe and the one admiring. Nate had noticed that the sentiment exponentially began to resemble ‘fear’ the less distance spanned between the two points. 

Within First Recon itself he had been pleased and not altogether shocked at how little of an issue the presence of Bravo was to its sister companies. Alpha, with its Company Commander a wolf himself, was unsurprisingly supportive, but Charlie was entirely wolf-free, and still showed absolutely no hesitancy with interacting with any of Nate’s men. 

“There isn’t much room for prejudice among the men,” Mike had explained. “Recon Marines, wolf and not, get mixed up in training and again in the field. There aren’t that many all-wolf teams, so guys learn how to get along. Only so many times you can get your ass saved by one, before you have to embrace the wolf.”

The trouble, as far as Nate could see, was with the Commanding Officers. While some, like Patterson and Eckloff, were wolves themselves; others, like Bravo 2’s own company commander, were deeply unsettled by the presence of the wolves and made a point of interacting with them as little as possible. Any soldier, Recon or otherwise, dropped into the shit with a wolf quickly learned to be damned happy that wolf was there. Officers were, for the most part, never forced into such a situation.

What was more, Nate had quickly begun to suspect that his own attitude to his platoon, his demonstrated lack of concern when it came to crossing into what was jokingly referred to as either ‘Wolf Country’ or ‘The Devil Dog’s Den’, paired with his efforts to understand his platoon, had made Captain Schwetje leery of him as well, despite the fact that Nate hadn’t even known werewolves existed until Gunny Wynn had driven them off-base to a crowded sports bar where he proceeded to feed Nate wings and beer, and give him the sit-rep that really should have come with the papers directing him to report to Pendleton.

Schwetje was one thing; Nate hadn’t perceived any open hostility or deep-seated prejudice from his Captain. Mostly the man just seemed freaked-out to be leading a whole company, among which were some very literal Devil Dogs. Gunnery Sergeant Griego, however, was shaping-up to be a different matter.

“Who, Casey Kasem?” Espera had said, grinning like even the thought of the shorter man was amusing. Nate had frowned and Espera’s grin had diminished a little, but it seemed that somehow the men of Bravo 2 had taken to him so quickly and easily that they sometimes forgot he was their Lieutenant. It was difficult, mainly because Nate found himself increasingly fond of his platoon, but as an officer he couldn’t afford to be among the men like an equal, not if he hoped to maintain control.

“It’s because he fucking loves werewolves,” Doc Bryan had explained, jumping in before Espera could say anything further.

Ray had echoed, “As in, fucking _loves_ them. Like we’re a walking wet dream for him or something.” He shuddered to demonstrate just what he thought about that idea.

Bryan had continued like Ray hadn’t said anything at all, “He jumped at the chance to work with Bravo 2, because it’s unique. Not many all-wolf platoons. When he got here, though, he didn’t click with the men.” 

“It’s Brad’s fault,” Ray said. 

“Yeah, Brah,” Lilley had volunteered. “Griego was like, so excited he pissed in Sergeant Colbert’s Wheaties or something. That shit’s just not down.”

Nate remembered how Ray had held a stare on Lilley for a minute, like he couldn’t determine if Lilley had actually just said that, and whether he should be commended or criticized for it, before he had rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever. The point is, after that, our esteemed Gunnery Sergeant Griego was strongly advised by Major Eckloff to never again cross into Wolf Country.”

“All he wanted,” Espera said, with false sympathy laid on so thick it made Nate choke-down a laugh. “Was to _belong_ , man.”

“Fuck that,” Ray snorted. “Did _you_ want him dancing in and out of our sweet-ass den, pissing in our Cornflakes from excitement and…”

“Gentlemen,” Colbert said continuing his habit of approaching so silently and from such an angle as to make it seem he had materialized from thin-air. His smooth quiet voice cut through Ray’s building diatribe before Nate could step-in and scold them for their language and for disrespecting an officer. “May I remind you that you are speaking about our Gunnery Sergeant. Show some respect.” 

The men had fallen perfectly quiet, and dropped their heads down and tipped them just slightly to the side, exposing their necks. Nate had seen the gesture before, but it hadn’t clicked as it did in that moment, a sign of submission and respect for Colbert, even if they couldn’t, and wouldn’t, extend the same to Griego.

There were several alphas within Bravo 2, and there was more than one Team Leader as well. Sergeant Colbert, however, was the unofficial though wholly accepted lead alpha of the platoon. He was also the leader of the pack that encapsulated a good portion of the wolves in Bravo 2. There wasn’t a wolf among Nate’s men that wanted to, or was crazy enough, to go head-to-head with Colbert.

Nate had met Brad’s steady gaze and nodded, once, before he had turned and walked off. He knew that part of the ease of his acceptance into the platoon was owed, in a significant part, to Brad’s approval of him. He also knew that a good portion of Brad’s approval had come because Nate hadn’t spoken to any of his men any differently than he would have if they’d been regular Recon Marines, and he’d never undermined any of the alphas in from the group. That, and he’d displayed some level of both sense and competency.

Nate remembered hearing Espera’s voice as he’d walked off, “Fuck that, dog. _Wynn’s_ our Gunny.”

Brad’s words had carried despite the increasing distance and the hush of his voice, “Poke, not in front of the Lieutenant.”

On Nate’s second day at Camp Margarita, before he had ventured onto the ‘wrong’ side of the fence or exchanged even one word with his men, (with the notable exception of Mike Wynn), Lieutenant Colonel Ferrando had called him to his office and proceeded to explain Nate’s responsibilities thusly: “Those men are yours. You go in and you earn their trust and you learn their skills. Their successes are on you. So are their fuck-ups.” 

It turned out that as much as the Corps showed a marked wariness of any werewolf in its employ, it also rated an enlisted were’ above a Lieutenant, though that position was certainly not official. “We train a lot of brilliant C.O.s in the Corps,” Ferrando had said, his voice strained and rasping. “A _lot_ of good men. But good men are considerably easier for this United States Marine Corps to find than good wolves that not only sign-up for but can succeed in the rigorous selection process to become Recon Marines. When the policy toward civilian wolves changes, and weres’ are no longer considered a secret weapon of the USMC, then maybe the Corps’ priorities will shift.” He blinked at Nate and added, “But I doubt it.”

Nate hadn’t had much time with his men, and he had yet to fully explore their capabilities. Most of their time had been taken up outfitting and learning to drive the tin-plated Humvees that had been thrust upon them. From the gossip he had heard circling in hushed voices around both Camps, and what he had witnessed for himself, he could understand why Recon wolves were prized so highly. 

The only other thing Ferrando had offered before he’d sent Nate into Wolf Country was accompanied by a particularly intense look: “I have the utmost respect for the men behind that fence, Lieutenant. Don’t let me down.”

When he had arrived at Camp Margarita to take-up his new assignment, Nate had known absolutely nothing about what he was stepping into. By the time he had passed through the gate into ‘Wolf Country’, he knew more than enough to be going along with, which had included a rundown on the Lieutenants who had preceded him. The good ones, who had endeavored to work with the men to the best of their ability, but had failed due to injury, or an inability to make any sort of connection to the men let alone keep-up; as well as the bad ones, who failed as a result of ignorance, or lack of ability.

Ferrando had chosen Nate because he hoped that Bravo 2 might finally function as it was meant to. “And Lieutenant,” Ferrando had added, just as Nate had been about to cross through the gate. “I expect you to make do with your company commander.”

Nate hadn’t known quite how to receive that at the time. It had seemed to him as if he had just been told to ‘play nice’. After arriving at Mathilda, Nate realized Godfather had actually been saying that he understood the situation wasn’t ideal, but his hands were tied. Nate hadn’t quite figured out how that affected his own position, if it did at all, but it felt good to at least know someone in authority realized Captain Schwetje was not the right pick to lead their Recon platoon.

“You’ve got that look on your face, again,” Mike said as he walked up to stand beside Nate. “What’s on your mind, sir?”

“Fences.”

Mike chuckled and shook his head. “Only so many wars you can fight at one time. Let’s tackle fences after we finish with Iraq. Oo-ra?”


End file.
